Revelations
by Galia
Summary: Things that Numair tells Daine about himself as they get to know each other. Chapter one: a sad midwinter story
1. Daine's Introduction

People who don't know Numair think he's so perfect. He has the perfect face, the perfect body, perfect manners, the perfect Gift—the perfect life. And it's hard to believe that he ever had anything else. But I've been his student (and then his lover) for more than a decade, and I know his secrets; where his inner darkness originates. Sure, everyone knows that he had to flee Carthak twice because Ozorne wanted him dead, but that just makes him sound like a fairy-tale hero. _I _know that he's so much less—and so much more…

So don't take him for granted—his friendship with Jon, his power, his happiness, and his life. Appreciate Numair for who he is, and who he almost wasn't.

[A/N: Note especially for equinoX: _this is not a continuous story!_ The second one may be something from after the Immortals War, and the next may be from before Wolf-Speaker. I'm not going to continue the story, that's the end, and I purposefully ended at a funny spot. It's not supposed to feel "finished"…hope you like it anyway.]


	2. I don't celebrate midwinter.

Why Numair Hates Midwinter

A sob story

            "Numair!" Daine called. "Where are you?"

            "In my workroom, magelet," he replied from the highest room in the tower. "Come on up!"

            Daine raced up the stairs and into the workroom, where Numair was sitting on a high stool and taking notes on a bubbling pot. "It's snowing!" she said, dancing around the small space.

            Numair grinned, looking out the window. "This is more than just snow, it's a blizzard!"

            "How perfect," Daine said with a sigh. "A blizzard on midwinter."

            Numair stiffened. "That's right," he said tensely, "tomorrow is the first day of midwinter. I'd forgotten."

            Daine was confused. "Forgotten? But how could you forget? 'Midwinter comes but once a year' and all that…"

            "I don't usually celebrate it when I'm not at the palace," Numair interrupted, turning abruptly back to his work.

            "Whyever not?" Daine asked. "I mean, everybody celebrates Midwinter, it's the best holiday all year and it's so pretty when there's snow and people are singing midwinter tunes and everyone puts blue cloths over their door…wait, you've never done that."

            "That's right," Numair said coldly. "I told you, I don't like to celebrate midwinter."

            Daine wondered how her teacher's demeanor could have gone from so warm to so edgy in such a short time. She cautiously circled around until she could see his face; his brow was furrowed, his dark eyes inscrutable, and she could see his hands trembling. Startled, she took a few nervous steps forward and carefully placed her small hands over his own large ones. He looked up at her and softened his expression somewhat.

            "Daine," he said quietly, "I'm sorry. I've been very insensitive. You live here too, now, and if you'd like to celebrate midwinter, we can, blue cloth and all."

            Daine shook her head. "I don't care about midwinter," she said. "I just want to know _why_ you don't like it." Numair closed his eyes and shook his head. Daine squeezed his hands and whispered, "_please!_"

            He opened his eyes, and she could see that they were filled with pain and sorrow. He pulled up a stool for her and she sat. "You know I can't deny you anything. But this isn't a story you really need to hear. It's not a story _anyone_ needs to hear."

            Daine tucked her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "I do."

My mother's family used to be nobility, before Carthak conquered their kingdom. My mother's parents fled Ekallatum and settled in Tyra—my grandmother was pregnant with my mother at the time. Although my mother never had anything growing up, my grandmother used to tell her that some day, she would arrange a marriage for her with a rich man. My grandmother chose my father: he was very young, only about seventeen, but already had his own fairly successful merchant business. My mother never expected much, but was, of course, happy when the business continued to grow and she could provide a comfortable life for her family. 

_Of course, a merchant has to work very hard, especially when he's just starting out, and father was away from home a lot—working, my mother always told us. I remember when I was maybe five years old, I would wake up in the middle of the night to hear him tiptoe in the door. Mother would always stay up until he came home, sitting at the kitchen table with a book and a candle. Some nights I would sit up with her and she would teach me to read the language that her mother taught her, the one used back in Ekallatum. No, I don't remember any of it, but I can still read it because of a course I took at the University—archaeology, I think it was, or provincial cultures._

_            Anyway, if I were sitting with my mother when my father came home, he would just glare and go straight to their room. She would send me to bed and then follow him. But some nights, I would be awake in my room, and I would hear them argue. They always did it very quietly, but you could tell that they wished they would shout. Mother would accuse him of all kinds of things—drinking and gambling and stealing and sleeping with other women. Who knows if she was right? He never admitted it and never denied it. _

_            They were still carrying on like this years later, when I was nine and went off to the University. It was so nice not to have to worry about them anymore, and I almost forgot about their fights. But then I came home for midwinter._

_            My brothers and sister were older by then, and they had noticed the same tensions between our parents that I had. The fourth morning of midwinter, my mother cooked breakfast for everyone as usual. When she set my father's plate down in front of him, she announced that since it was the solstice and a holiday, there was no need for him to go to work and he could finally stay home with the family. "I have to go," he said, and she wouldn't let him. _

_He got up to leave, and she barred the door. So he—he slapped her in the face, so hard that it left a red mark the shape of his hand on her cheek. Tears started running down her face but she didn't move, so he hit her again, and again, and again._

_            You see, my father was raised in Sarain where they regard a wife as a man's property. He yelled at her, and said that she was a whore, and that she was acting out of her place. "I'm the man of this house," he shouted, over and over again. When she was unconscious he stormed out._

_            My brother and I took her to a healer, who agreed to care for her and told us to come check on her the next day. When we came back, she was gone—maybe she ran away from the healer, or said that she'd go home on her own, or maybe she died from internal injuries. It doesn't matter—we never saw her again, and no one spoke of her for the rest of the midwinter holiday. I went back to the University after that and I haven't seen my home since. Well, of course I have. This tower is my home, the palace is my home, and even Carthak was my home. You're probably one of the few people that understands that._

_            I've never told that to anyone. In a way, it made me feel better. Do you know where I could find some blue cloth?_


	3. Conté vs. Salmalín

Conté vs. Salmalín (battle of the accented-name hotties)

The night was as dark as most and as stormy as any. Someone knocked timidly on Alanna's bedroom door at Pirate's Swoop.

"Come in!" she called shortly, reaching for the dagger under her mattress.

The dagger was unneeded, for the small figure illuminated in her doorway was none other than Daine. Alanna and Daine were the best of friends, almost like sisters.

"Daine, you scared me," Alanna said unnecessarily, replacing the dagger. Daine, used to the lioness's eccentricities, laughed, but then dashed under the covers as another crack of thunder made the entire fortress shake.

"And the storm scared _me_," Daine said when she had recovered enough to take her head out of the covers. Alanna laughed. 

"Sixteen is too old to be scared by a storm," she pretended to lecture. Daine rolled her eyes.

"Fine, then. I came in for a story." Alanna groaned, and Daine grinned.

"All right, all right, a story. What kind of story would you like?"

"The usual kind," Daine said, meaning a true one. Alanna thought hard.

"I could tell you about the time Jon and I went to the Black City—"

"Heard it."

"How about Coram and George's cousin Ris—"

"Heard it."

"Then George's—"

"Heard it."

Alanna sighed, and then brightened. "Did I ever tell you about the time Numair and Jon nearly killed each other over a loaf of bread?" Daine shook her head, eyes wide. Alanna smiled. "Don't tell them I told you…they're trying to deny it ever happened."

"I won't, I promise! Now tell!" 

Alanna laughed. "Well, you already know how he met Onua." Daine nodded.

_She convinced the king to hire him, remember, but Jon had never met nor heard of Numair. All he _did_ know was that, after doing his homework, there was certainly no black-robe mage named Numair Salmalín. Jon and Numair had only met once, when Onua introduced them. Jon was sure that Numair was a fake, but didn't want to insult Onua by announcing it. So he kept him employed but only let him do minor tasks—things that he wasn't good at, whenever possible. Jon was obviously trying to make him quit._

_Of course, this infuriated Numair. Imagine if the king ordered you to groom the carthorses while Onua and Stefan tried to organize woodland creatures to disturb the enemy camp. That's how Numair felt; he was easily two, three times as powerful as any mage we had at the time, yet he would sit in the corner with three student mages and anchor a protective ward while mages who should have been his pupils did the real work._

_He did his best to impress Jon. Every spare second he spent with mages from the University, fooling around in the workrooms and creating all kinds of useful magical things that you probably use every day without thinking about it. He set the tone of magical discoveries for at least a decade. So obviously, everyone else loved Numair—he still has more friends than anyone else can keep track of. But Jon (that stubborn prig) refused to regard him as anything more than a lying foreigner. _

Numair didn't get mad—he got baking. Don't laugh! I'm serious! You see, it was only a few days until midwinter, and he didn't have much money to buy a gift (his salary was another way Jon was trying to get him to leave), so he decided the best thing would be a gift from the heart. Now, Numair had never baked a single thing in his life, but he figured it couldn't be too different from reading a spell, and apparently it wasn't. Most of his foods came out fine—some didn't, and he gave them to Lord Wyldon's dogs when he went to the big party at Cavall (which is a story for another time, and also a top-secret one because it would embarrass several important conservative nobles if it ever got out). 

_He put all the good things in a basket, tied up with pretty ribbon. On top was this beautiful loaf of bread he baked. I asked him about it, and he told me it was a soda bread with raisins, walnuts, and currants with chips of cinnamon. I asked him what in Mithros' name that all meant, and he said, "I don't know, but that's what it says on the recipe, minus the currants and walnuts." Anyway, he had decorated it with raisins in the shape of the shield of Tortall—I swear it! He admitted to using his Gift just a little, but he did it mostly by hand; a perfect replica! It must have taken him all day._

_This next part I heard from Thayet. He showed up in their antechamber (you know, the room where you always have to wait for them, right in front of their private quarters. The one with the pretty blue wallpaper), but Jon was away doing something or other. Thayet came out and accepted it. She had heard good things about Numair and had nothing against him anyway, so she accepted it and thanked him warmly. She also apologized a bit for Jon's behavior, and then gave Numair a friendly hug._

_Just as Jon came in._

_Jon kind of lost it—he started yelling at Numair and calling him all sorts of names. Numair tried to take it but eventually he gave in and started shouting right back at his king. I would have been proud. Then Jon accused Numair of trying to "steal away his wife with a loaf of bread" or something to that effect._

_"But Jon," Thayet protested, "the bread was for you! It's a midwinter gift!" But Jon wouldn't listen and believe it or not, he challenged Numair to a duel. A real duel, not a magical one. Numair had never picked up a sword in his life, so he tried to get Jon to make it a magical duel, just to be fair. Jon chased him outside, waving his sword._

_Imagine for a second how ridiculous a king looks charging after a mage, sword in the air. He was lucky that everyone else was in the banquet hall. I was on my way back from the bathroom and I caught up with Thayet and we ran after them._

_When they got outside, Jon started attacking Numair. He did what any frightened mage would do: he transported Jon to the top of Balor's Needle. Jon started shouting at him from up there, and Numair didn't want anyone to hear, so he ran up the outer stair, which was very stupid._

_He tripped and fell between the steps—those gaps are unsafe, if you ask me. Numair caught himself with his arms, but the rest of his body was just kind of dangling. To his credit, I guess, Jon didn't attack him, but he didn't help him either. He walked carefully down the outer stair while Numair struggled to pull himself back up. We thought it was all over when Jon offered him a hand, but as soon as Numair was back on his feet Jon attacked him with a spell._

_Numair, of course, hit him right back and they had a full-scale duel on the stairs. I actually don't know who would have won—Jon's Gift wasn't as strong, but Numair hadn't really developed any skill as a battle mage—but after a few minutes, Thayet marched right up the tower and stepped between them. They both stared at her and stopped fighting, and she smacked them each on the face. "You men make me sick," she grumbled, and seized each of them by the ear and dragged them down the tower and back up to the palace. I ran behind._

_She hauled them all the way up to the royal bedroom, threw them both inside, and stomped in. I followed, careful to keep out of the way. She put a teakettle on the fire and pushed them down in two chairs facing each other. With her hands on her hips and glaring at them both, she said, "This has gone on for far too long. You two resolve this or I'm never letting you out." Then se grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the room, shutting and locking the door behind us._

We waited in the antechamber where the whole problem had started; she sat calmly embroidering and I paced until she made me sit down and read a book. At first there was some muffled shouting, and then the sound of a teacup shattering on the wall, but later it was silent except for the sound of their voices, too quiet for us to tell what they were saying. Hours later, they knocked on the door and she let them out. I'll never know what they talked about but they've been the best of friends ever since, and not a one of the four of us has ever told anyone else.

Daine looked at Alanna skeptically. "Are you sure you're not just pulling my leg?" she asked. Alanna shook her head.

"I would never lie to you," she said truthfully. "Besides, why would I make up something like this?"

The wildmage laughed. "I guess you're right. And, oddly enough, I can imagine it…but of course, they've matured far beyond that point now, haven't they?"

Another flash of lightning lit the room, and a tall figure burst through the door without even knocking and crossed the room in three steps to burrow under the blankets. Once the thunder had faded, Alanna lifted the covers off of Numair, who was curled into a ball. "Jon kicked me out of the library," he said sheepishly. "There wasn't enough room under the table for both of us."

"Daine, I beg to differ," Alanna said. Daine laughed and hit Numair lightly with a pillow.

A/N: If you think some of this story has slightly slashy undertones (being locked in Jon's bedroom, hiding from thunder under the table), you're wrong and you should get your mind out of the gutter.

From the rest of you, reviews would be _much_ appreciated, as usual.


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